


Omnium Rerum Principia Parva Sunt

by Dardrea



Series: Dulce Periculum [5]
Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Bretons, Cyrodiil, F/M, Imperial City, Oral Sex, Orcs, Orsimer - Freeform, PWP, Set in the Imperial City during the events of Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Strip Dice, Teratophilia, The Gray Fox - Freeform - Freeform, Thieves Guild, orc boyfriend
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 12:29:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17981360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dardrea/pseuds/Dardrea
Summary: Spar's a Breton thief living in the Imperial City in Cyrodiil. The Great War is long done and the Aldmeri Dominion practically run the Empire. Undercurrents of discontent are stirring, war is threatening again in the far corners of the realm, but that all means little to her after she finds Nocturnal's Cowl and unwillingly takes up the mantle of the Gray Fox--and responsibility for everyone who puts their trust in the resurgent Thieves Guild.(Also pwp, mind the tags, etc. Like I said at the end of the last one, that was the last completed fic, this one's not done but I'd kinda like to stop thinking about it... so... here's as much as there is.)





	Omnium Rerum Principia Parva Sunt

**Author's Note:**

> (The Beginnings of All Things Are Small)

Spar slipped through the broken masonry without brushing against so much as a spec of crumbling stone. When she didn’t call out an alarm, Uri followed with less elegance, making the rock hiss as it rained down in a silver hail of fine dust around him. Even though he’d been through this way before he still couldn’t get through without disturbing the ruin.

She turned and watched him while she waited, smiling.

“Laugh it up,” he grumbled, easing out into the larger chamber.

“I would never!”

“Uh huh.” He brushed at his armor but the powdery dust of the Ayleid’s white stone was tenacious stuff and not easily shaken. After a moment he gave up with a sigh.

“The pack?”

“Of course, I’ve got the pack,” he said and swung it down off his back and handed it to her.

“Excellent.” She headed for the spot she’d already scouted out: a long-dried fountain with a pair of benches flanking it, at the center of the chamber.

There were what looked like empty stone planters set in concentric circles around the fountain though she wasn’t sure how that would ever have worked, since as far as they could tell everything that had been built down here had always been underground. She wasn’t sure what, other than mushrooms perhaps, the ancient elves might have been able to grow so far away from the sun, but perhaps with their magic they’d been capable of more than she gave them credit for. It was all empty now, the fountain and all the planters. They ringed the center of the room like pews for an altar in the round.

“This is really where you want to do this?” he asked, eyeing their surroundings dubiously. Their torchlight painted the white stone a warmer orange shade, but the ruins weren’t much better than the sewers for warmth or comfort.

“It’s private!” she said fervently. “Outside of our room but private. And we’ve already checked through this area, there’re are no goblins, vampires, rats, or mudcrabs. No Guild and no guard. Where else in the city can we say the same?”

“There are places outside the city, you know.”

She snorted. “None that are worth visiting.”

She set the pack down on one of the benches and took out what she needed to start a fire. The empty Ayleid ruins didn’t provide much but crumbling stone and the odd chest so she’d made sure they’d come prepared. He watched, and pulled out the furs, unrolling them beside her kindling, but didn’t bother trying to help with her fire.

Instead he dug into the pack and pulled out the wineskin and took a long drink while she finished.

He was letting his hair and his beard grow out. Urimmok gro-Ghunzug was still under death sentence with the Thalmor that ran the city, but the Thalmor couldn’t be bothered to look too closely at orcs. Through the Guild he had a new name, Urzahul gro-Yagol, and with a little more hair and dressed more like an adventurer or a merc than a guard, he could go where he pleased.

Almost, where he pleased. Best he avoided his former comrades, the city guards and the Legionnaires. It chaffed him, living in the shadows. Their explorations through and under the sewers were a distraction, but she knew, even after a year, he missed his life in the sun and his place as a man of honor, if not much status.

Satisfied with the setup, she joined him on the bench, reaching out for the wineskin and taking a healthy swig when he handed it to her.

“Hard to believe we’ve been down here over a year, isn’t it?” she said, handing the wineskin back. He corked it and set it on the pack.

“It’s not where I imagined I’d end up,” he said.

She checked his face but there wasn’t any bitterness in it, no more than there had been in his words, though she couldn’t have blamed him for it.

“I’m sorry,” she said, not for the first time.

He looked at her. “For saving me?” he teased, also not for the first time.

She smiled a little and shook her head.

“I’d give your life back if I could.”

He picked up her hand and kissed the back of it. “I know you would. I don’t know how many more ways I can tell you, I wouldn’t have it.”

Her hand tightened in his. “Then what do you want? What would make you happy?”

He looked at her, his eyes crinkled up, and she didn’t need to hear the sappy words to know what he was thinking. She almost growled though, because she knew they didn’t matter: he _wasn’t_ happy. There was a distance in his gaze sometimes. A wanting that she clearly wasn’t fulfilling.

He lived in the heart of the Guild’s new headquarters, but he wasn’t Guild. He was well-liked, mostly, by the kids and the beggars and the merchants who’d joined them, anyway, even if he made her actual brothers and sisters of the shadows nervous, but he wasn’t a part of their family, even if he was hers.

She thought he was happiest when they were out alone, exploring, mapping the sewers and the tunnels and the ruins. Slaying vampires and undead, killing or parlaying with goblins. She’d become an adventurer for him, and that wasn’t something she’d ever thought she’d be, but he was _happy_ when they were back-to-back in the midst of their enemies.

She didn’t always have time for their adventures, though. The Guild needed her, more than she liked. She wasn’t a leader, but the Gray Fox was the figurehead that had brought them all together and even humble little Spar had had an increasingly important part to play in coordinating their return to glory, if only because she’d been one of the first to “answer the Fox’ call.”

She swung her leg over the bench so she was straddling it, facing him, and moved the pack to the ground beside them, pulling out a small, noisy bag. She forced a smile.

“Forget that then. Let’s get started.” She shook the bag and its contents clicked as they tumbled together. “Shall we?”

His red eyes lit and he licked his lips.

She tugged the bag open and held it out, letting him take a handful of the dice first before taking the rest for herself.

He lost the first round, and pretended to pout as he pulled his helmet off and set it on the ground by their pack.

He lost the second round too.

* * *

She chortled. “Luck just isn’t with you today, green-boy.”

He grumped, not entirely pretending anymore. “If I didn’t know better I’d swear you were cheating. It’s just not natural.”

“Wanna mix the dice up again?” she offered, smirking.

A man of honor, he ignored her offer—this time—and stood to strip his [chausses](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chausses) off, leaving him only in his undershirt and smalls. He glared at her and she grinned.

She was still wearing her boots, pants, and jerkin, though she’d taken off her hood, pauldrons, gauntlets, and belt. “Don’t worry about it—you’re bound to catch up some time,” she said.

He gave her a hard look.

She won the next round but he took it with better grace.

“Oops?” she said, eyes intent on him. He only had two options left.

“This is why I won’t gamble with you for money,” he said.

“I thought it was because you’re too upstanding for such low pursuits.”

He rolled his eyes, but he was smiling now and it made his eyes glow in the firelight and his teeth show white.

She bit her lip and leaned forward.

He shook his head at her but stretched his arms above his head for a moment, the tease, as if he didn’t know how that drew out the planes of his chest and belly, and emphasized the sturdy width of his shoulders and the bulge of his biceps. His undershirt rode up a bit, giving her a peek of his hard, partitioned abdomen. It wasn’t quite so defined when he wasn’t stretching—or when he wasn’t deliberately sucking it in.

She tried to give him a look, but the tip of his tongue was showing between his tusks and it distracted her for a moment.

“You ready?” he grumbled, that deep lovely voice of his touching off little sparks under her skin.

“Hmm?”

He laughed and reached down for the hem of his shirt, slowly, damn, so slowly, peeling it up his chest and over his head.

She grunted, not meaning to, and he laughed. They’d both been too tired the night before but they’d fucked nearly ‘til dawn the night before that. Hence being too tired last night. Still, every time she saw him it was a punch to her libido and a heady thrill to think that he was hers. The big, kind, honorable, incredible orc was all _hers_.

He rolled his dice and waited.

She was still just staring at him, her own dice loose in her lax hand.

“Your turn,” he repeated, his gravelly voice gone silky.

She lost that round.

* * *

It seemed their luck had turned. A rash of losses for her soon left her in her undershirt and pants and nothing else. Across the bench, straddling it just as she was, lucky Uri was still in his smalls.

She pouted.

“Your choice,” he told her, grinning.

Undershirt or her leather breeches.

She stepped over the bench and stood beside it and reached for the fastening on her breeches. She’d already lost her belt so there was nothing to it but the buttons and her tucked-in undershirt.

She stooped to strip the fitted leather off her legs.

He made a sound and she straightened with that innocent smile he never had believed. “Hmm?”

“No underwear, I see.”

She shrugged and swung her leg back over the bench to straddle it again. She’d worn her longer undershirt, and there was enough material to make sure she wasn’t sitting bare-skinned on the cold stone though it still gave her a bit of a shiver. Still, the glazed look in Uri’s eyes was worth it. “You always complain that I stack the deck against you when we do this. In the spirit of fairness, I thought I’d leave off an item or two.”

“Ah,” he said, looking guilty.

She laughed. “Don’t worry about it. Unless you want me to put something back on to make up for it?”

“No, I don’t think that’s necessary.”

She scooped up her dice and shook them in her hand. They were on even footing now and the thrill of letting it all down to luck made her blood hum. “Then let’s see who goes next.”

* * *

She grinned, but his expression wasn’t what she’d expected. She did have a rather uncanny luck—and a tendency to nudge it along where she could—but when she won he didn’t usually look so conflicted. Neither of them really lost, after all. It was more about who went first, and adding a little fun to things.

Her own expression dropped when he sighed, pulled off a heavy orichalcum ring with a black stone, and set it on the bench between them. She stared down at it.

“What’s that?”

“You always say jewelry counts.” He sounded resigned.

“You always say it doesn’t.” She looked at him.

His head knocked back, a stubborn lift to his chin. “But I always give it to you.”

She grinned again, wider, possibly more delighted than if he’d just let her win outright. “You dirty cheater!”

“When in the company of thieves a wise Orsimer keeps his options open.”

“Is that a proverb?”

“No, but it probably should be,” he muttered and she could see he still felt guilty about it.

She sighed dramatically. “And here I deliberately left off layers just to make things more fair for you.”

That got her a disbelieving look.

“Well, you can’t deny it.”

“Throw your dice, Breton.”

“That handsome new necklace you’re wearing is on the table too, I suppose?” she asked, picking up one die at a time.

“It is.” She’d goaded him out of his guilt, easily enough.

She shook the dice in her hand. “Then let’s do this.”

* * *

She won the necklace in the next round and then, unless he was hiding something else—he was clever, for his honor, but unless he was hiding something _under_ his smalls—they were finally head to head, or garment to garment.

She licked her lips, a little breathless at the unexpectedly dramatic turn in the game.

“Any more surprises?”

He shook his head, smiling wryly. “Nope.”

She cast her die and he cast his.

She sighed. “You realize you only won because you cheated?”

He laughed and held his hand out for her undershirt.

Gamely, she stood up so she wasn’t sitting on the hem and pulled it off over her head. He wasn’t watching her face but he was definitely savoring his triumph. She put her shirt in his outstretched hand and he fisted it, letting both fall to his thigh.

“Like what you see, green-boy?”

His gaze did flick to her eyes then, though only for a moment. “Always.”

She took a step but he was ready and caught her wrist, pulling her down across his lap. She wrapped her arms around him and tilted her face up for his kiss.

It was a few moments before they pulled apart. Neither had been able keep completely still though the evidence of what it did to Uri was a little more obvious and pressed up insistently underneath her.

“So you won,” she said, running one finger along the side of his jaw. “How’re we gonna do this?”

His smile stretched broader. “On your knees,” he said. He chucked her under the chin. “Starting with your mouth.”

She grinned. “As my master commands.”

She slipped off his lap and he snorted as he swung his far leg over so he wasn’t straddling the bench anymore. “In my dreams.”

She sank down to her knees between his spread legs, giving him what she hoped was a flirty look. “Oh, I hope so.”

He was always so warm; he radiated heat and staved off the subterranean chill of the ruins below the sewers below the city. His chuckle warmed her even more. “Put that mouth to go good use, Breton—”

He should have been expecting it but he still broke off with a hiss when she slid her hand into his smalls and caught him by the cock.

“Okay,” she said, because she knew he wouldn’t say anything back, but her display of verbal prowess was short lived as she tugged the top edge of his smalls down and pulled him free.

This was planned, they’d gotten ready, and even for the jaunt through the sewers and ruins and side passages to this particular chamber she could smell his soap on him, mingling with the heady musk that was all his own.

Her stomach fluttered and her palm, pressed to his hot length, tickled, because this was her Uri, her incredible orc. Blind, she’d know him by his scent, by the feel of him.

She bent lower, arching her neck so she could look up at him while she flicked her tongue out and savored the first, salty taste. He jerked in her hand, his hips thrusting, his belly hollowing for a moment. But her eyes were on his, slits in the darkness, she could only imagine the entrancing crimson.

Twisting to keep the connection of their gaze she flattened her tongue and sucked the head into her mouth. His breath caught on a gasp and he jerked in her hand again.

But he was the winner this time, it would be his way. He caught her hair in his fist—his would be longer than hers soon, he’d taken to complaining—and tugged. Fire coursed hot through her veins, making her flush. She inhaled quickly and he pulled her head down on his cock, carefully keeping the angle that let him hold her gaze.

She had to release her grip to take him all the way into her mouth. Swallowing, but relaxing her throat. He watched, she knew, not just for the pleasure of the view.

He’d won, so he directed her head, fucking her mouth, or fucking himself with it, dragging her head to the rhythm and depth that pleased him. As careful as he was of her he made it so much harder on himself than if he’d just leave it to her, but her orc was a man of iron will.

Reflexive tears welled in her eyes and overflowed down her cheeks, blurring her view of him, and she couldn’t help letting her lashes fall closed when her nose was almost pressed to his hips anyway.

He groaned and his grip in her hair grew rougher, his movements hurried and frantic. She could hear him gasping, even over the blood pounding in her ears. She clutched her hands behind her own back to keep herself from reaching for him, and she made what little movement she still could with her tongue and throat to urge him on.

When it was up to her she’d swallow every drop of his cum, greedy for him, jealous in a quiet way that he’d ever not been hers. But when it was his show he always pulled out, she imagined for a similar reason.

Dragging himself out of her mouth in a rush, he finished with his hand—such a waste!—spilling creamy trails of hot cum across her throat and chest. She panted for breath and held herself still for it, that warm splatter that they both knew was his way of marking her. Her erudite, urbane orc, compassionate and kind and civilized, turned prowling beast over _her_. It might have scared her, maybe, if she hadn’t felt the beast in herself as keenly.

She worked her mouth against the brief soreness, the taste of him, and the saliva that had pooled when he was the only thing she could swallow. It was already trailing from the corners of her lips, down her chin, mixing with his cum on her chest, but she didn’t care. He was watching her and she knew what he was too out of breath to demand.

Watching _him_ again, now that she could, she met his eyes while his chest heaved and he leaned forward, bracing one arm on his knee, his other hand still fisted in her hair, keeping her throat arched back, her head up. She ran her fingertips across the sticky smears on her chest and carried the thick, salty taste of him to her lips, painting them with it, savoring the moment and the wildness in his eyes. She slid her fingers into her mouth and sucked his cum from her fingertips. He grunted, a soft, hungry sound that curled around her soul.

Holding his gaze— _I want you this much_ —she dragged her finger through the cum on her chest again, stroking it like the richest lotion into her skin, across her tits, over her nipples, before sucking it from her fingers again.

He groaned, but there was laughter at the back of it. “Spar—” Her name always sounded like a prayer when he spoke it in moment like this. She didn’t deserve it, but she’d never tire of hearing it.

He pulled her closer by her hair but caught her around the back with his other hand and hauled her up onto his lap again. Sideways, he didn’t need to have much fear of getting his own cum on himself, but he tilted her head back for a kiss, undoubtedly tasting himself on her lips. Still panting, heaving, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, then rested his head against hers, shutting his eyes and sighing.

She relaxed into his arms.


End file.
